


The Grindelwald Job

by trebleneverbringsmedown



Series: Fantastic Five [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Elder Wand, F/M, Gen, House Elves, I Don't Even Know, I apologize in advance, In Bruges AU, Jacob knows more than he lets on, Leverage AU, Newt Scamander is a Dork, Not Canon Compliant, Original Percival Graves Needs a Hug, Original Percival Graves also needs payback, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Graves Family Home is a TARDIS Hogwarts Hybrid, badass Queenie Goldstein, gratuitously making shit up as I go and playing with the laws of magic because I can
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9467108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trebleneverbringsmedown/pseuds/trebleneverbringsmedown
Summary: All the job required was an inside man, a grifter, a hitter, and a thief. Instead, Graves got a demoted Auror, her Legillimens sister, a no-maj baker, and a magizooligist with a niffler.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments on "A Witch Walks Into a Bar"! Make sure to read that first.

There was a word used to describe the phenomena that is the plot of your life no longer making sense, and Percival couldn’t for the life of him remember what the hell it was.

He’d been trying to remember for the last five years, when his life took its first turn from the _Proper Path_ and abruptly ended up on _What The Fuck Just Happened_?

The Most Honorable and Patriotic House Graves had a longstanding tradition of serving the United States. They were, after all, one of the Original Twelve who’d taken up President Jackson’s call for Aurors back in the late 1600s. It was a badge of honor that every Graves since Gondulphus wore with pride, and Percival was no exception.

It was this longstanding tradition that forged the House’s first and only _Proper Path_ that everyone after Gondulphus had followed with an eagerness that was borderline manic. It was a simple one, really:

  1. Attend Ilvermorny (concentrate on Defensive Magic, History of Magic, Wizarding Law, Potions, and Charms)
  2. Graduate with distinction
  3. Accept the inevitably offered internship with MACUSA in Law Enforcement
  4. Become an Auror



Percival completed every step perfectly, as had every Graves before him. He likely could have graduated summa cum laude, but decided early on that Seraphina Picquery would likely take that--she had, after all, been chosen by all four houses during the sorting (show off).

Nowhere on that list was Be-Framed-For-A-Wrongful-Death-By-Your-Mentor and Get-Yourself-Kicked-Out-Of-MACUSA.

Those were the first and second sharp turns, respectively.

Percival would later identify the third as having delved deeper into Gellert Grindelwald’s background in an attempt to figure out why the hell the man killed a foreign wandmaker in the first place.  
  
He may have used a few questionable back channels and less-than-legal-means to do so.

A lot of less-than-legal-means.

Allowing that to create people’s perception of him (and finance his Research Project) was probably the fourth sharp turn, which led to the fifth: becoming a con-wizard.

His ancestors never shut up about his current career choice, no matter how many silencing charms he cast on the frames. A few understood that this was the best course of action, went so far as applauding him for working to save MACUSA from the enemy within.  
  
Fives years after the first Sharp Turn down What The Fuck Just Happened? Grindelwald was now the Head of Security for the DMLE and Percival was following a new path:

  1. Figure out Grindelwald’s motives for murdering Gregorovitch
  2. Collect enough evidence to take to MACUSA
  3. Clear his name
  4. Become an Auror



The first step had been relatively easy, to a point. There were many witches and wizards out there with the right information; all he had to do was use the right means and cash in the right favors to get it. Personal information had been easy enough. Life after Durmstrang a little harder, but he found a contact with connections to England who discovered Grindlewald moved to England and lived with a great-aunt for the rest of his teenage years, before befriending Albus Dumbledore, a powerful wizard and advocate of amending the Statute of Secrecy so that it was less restrictive (again, red flags? _anyone_?).

Dumbledore had gone on to be a Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry while his friend traversed the globe, learning about various wizarding cultures and customs while picking up new magical practices and masteries along the way.

Beyond that, beyond what Percival had seen and experienced during his time at MACUSA, he had nothing that would help him clear his name in Gregorovitch’s death.

He knew that the wand was the key, the wand that Grindelwald had claimed from the man after his death. No one seemed to know much about the damned thing though, or simply refused to talk about it.

“Well?” The voice pulled him from his thoughts, sharp and impatient. Porpentina Goldstein stared at him from across the table, face set in a determined scowl. The witch was as tenacious as a crup (a fire-breathing crup on a rampage) if not a bit naive. He figured the department would eat her alive, especially given her abysmal undercover skills, but she’d managed to last four years before Grindelwald managed to fuck things up for her, too.

Now she had a personal vendetta against the wizard, and was willing to help.

“I may have an idea,” he relented, leaning back in his seat. “Whether or not you are involved depends on one thing though.” Goldstein eagerly leaned forward, eyes bright.

“What?”

“Tiny, how badly do you want to fuck Grindelwald over?”

“Badly enough to let you keep calling me Tiny,” she scowled. Percival couldn’t help but smirk--sometimes it was too easy to rile people up.

“Excellent. You get to be my inside man.” Her head tilted to the side, doing nothing to help the crup comparison.

“For what?”

“We’re going to steal something from Grindelwald,” he informed her. “Your first assignment as my inside man: find me a thief in lockup. Someone you can pressure into helping with this. None of my contacts or informants fit the bill, unfortunately.” Goldstein shifted in her seat, uncomfortable and clearly trying to hide something. Her eyes darted down to the table top. “You know someone already.”

“Sort of.” She tried to smile, but it looked more like a wince. “I--ah--it might seem crazy but--” she chewed on her lower lip a little, a terrible tell he wasn’t sure she would _ever_ get rid of. “Meet me back here in an hour,” she instructed, beating a hasty retreat towards the door.

Percival watched her, stomach twisting up something awful. This was either going to help him move on to Step 2, or blow up in his face spectacularly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read and left kudos!

A little over an hour later, a very harried looking Goldstein returned to the bar, this time dragging along a wizard by the sleeve of his bright blue coat. The poor man looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, curly reddish-brown hair sticking up in odd places, bow-tie askew, black and yellow scarf thrown haphazardly around his neck. He clutched a beaten up suitcase in one hand and his wand in the other. Percival noticed that the knuckles of both hands were white.

Goldstein led him over to the table and shoved him into one of the chairs with more force than Percival thought was strictly necessary. “Mr. Graves, this is Newt Scamander. Newt, this is Percival Graves, the wizard I was telling you about.”

Scamander ducked his head, eyes darting around the bar, looking everywhere _but_ Percival. Either he recognized Percival’s name just as quickly as the other wizard recognized his or he was trying to plot his escape. Percival looked over at Goldstein, unimpressed.

“ _This_ is the thief?” He demanded. “A _magizoologist_?” The shock on her face was almost as funny as the desperate expression on Newt’s. Percival decided to take pity on him. “How’s Theseus been?”

“Wait, Theseus? Who’s _Theseus_?”

“Uh, all right, I suppose. Haven’t really owled him since the Egypt Incident. He was rather upset with me--do you know about the Egypt Incident?” He asked, finally meeting his eyes. There was five whole seconds of eye contact before the Brit ducked his head again.

“I heard about it,” Percival nodded. “Pretty impressive, and reckless.” He leaned forward, forearms braced on the table, hands clasped. If Newt got caught up in this mess, Theseus would murder him. “You may be a decent duelist--” the corners of Newt’s mouth turned upwards a little. “And you may have a knack for knocking poachers on their asses, but you are definitely no thief.”

“He can help!” Goldstein protested. Percival looked over--and up--at her. She still hadn’t taken a seat, but rather loomed over them, hands on her hips. Classic Rookie Interrogation Tactic, one which she should have outgrown by now. “And I know he wants to help! He _knows_ what happened to that boy--” it was hard to miss the way Newt flinched. “And what Grindelwald did and it don’t sit right with him either!”

“I don’t care. Find another thief.”

“I don’t need to find another thief! We got a perfectly good one right here!”

“Newt is _not_ a thief, Goldstein. Either find someone else or you’re out, got it?”

“ _Excuse me_?” Her voice hit a pitch that could’ve shattered glass. Percival braced himself for an oncoming hex. Someone cleared their throat behind them and both their heads whipped around. He recognized the blonde bombshell as Goldstein’s sister, who sometimes followed her into the blind pig when Goldstein was having a hard time getting information out of someone. She had a way with people that made them open up. He didn’t recognize the overweight figure trying to laughably hide behind her, however.

“Teen, if you wanna do something _illegal_ , maybe shrieking about thieves ain’t the best way to go about it?” Queenie smiled.

“Hey, this is a speakeasy, ain’t it?” The man asked, looking around in wonder. “Jeepers Creepers, is that a giant?” He hissed, looking towards Manny in the corner. It was the only place in the joint with a high enough part of ceiling for him to sort of sit comfortably under.

“What are you doing here, Queenie?” Goldstein sighed.

“Newt was in trouble,” she shrugged, looping an arm through the man’s and leading him to where Newt was sitting. “He’s too nice to say no to you, Tina,” she added.

“Wait—” Percival pointed at her companion, his words and awe finally adding up. “Is he—you brought a _no-maj_ here? Are you out of your _godsdamned minds_?”

“He ain’t just any no-maj,” Queenie protested. “He’s one of us.” And with that, the pair took a seat in a set of chairs Queenie had summoned over.

“Does _one of us_ have a name?” Percival asked, mentally storing his Rappaport Law rants away for later. His first order of business should be getting Newt out of the whole mess before Theseus _murdered_ him for putting his baby brother in danger--even if his baby brother worked with dangerous creatures that could do more damage than anyone in the bar.

“Jacob Kowalski,” he introduced himself, extending a hand to Percival with a wide smile. The man hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d first appeared with Queenie (then again, any man with that witch hanging on his arm probably wouldn’t stop smiling either). When Percival didn’t shake his hand, he slowly withdrew and turned his attention to Newt, informing the man that the Demiguise pastries were a huge hit at the bakery.

Percival started comprising a new list:

  1. Find a new thief so Theseus didn’t murder him
  2. Get Goldstein to _calm down_ and _listen_ for once
  3. Obliviate the no-maj
  4. Figure out just how severely Rappaport’s Law had been violated with the inclusion of creature-shaped pastries at a no-maj bakery
  5. Figure out Grindelwald’s motives for murdering Gregorovitch
  6. Collect enough evidence to take to MACUSA
  7. Clear his name
  8. Become an Auror



“That’s a pretty long list, honey,” Queenie frowned. Her grip on the no-maj’s arm tightened. “And you ain’t obliviating him.”

“That’s that thing that makes me forget, right?”

“I didn’t say any of that out loud.” Percival studied her closely, looking for her wand. There were very few witches and wizards, powerful witches and wizards, who could read others’ thoughts without using the actual Legillimens charm.

Queenie smirked.

_Fuck_. The smirk turned into a full blown grin.

“Don’t worry, I don’t make it a habit to read you if you don’t want me to. You were thinking so _loudly_ though, kinda hard for me not to hear it. Who’s Theseus?”

“My brother,” Newt offered. “He’s an Auror with the Ministry of Magic back home. He and Mr. Graves participated in a correspondence program between Ilvermorny and Hogwarts in their Fifth Year. They had to stop the program, unfortunately. Something about pranksters sending all sorts of things in the letters. Lots of untested charms.” Another five seconds of eye contact. Percival swore the other wizard was _laughing_ at him.

“Nothing anyone could ever prove.”

“So Theseus assured me every time he sent one of those damn letters. I had purple spots on my face for a _month_ , by the way.” Percival pitied anyone who crossed the eldest Scamander brother.

He wasn’t going to add himself to that list.

“You’re not helping with this,” he informed the younger man. “You’re not a thief.”

“No, _he_ isn’t,” Goldstein all but snarled at him. She’d finally pulled another chair over and sandwiched herself between Newt and himself. “But he’s got one that’ll get past Grindelwald and get its hands on whatever you’re gonna steal from him.”

“He’s got--?” Newt set the case on the table and flipped the latches open. Carefully, the lid was pushed up, partially, and Newt reached down inside, muttering under his breath as he did. “Please tell me you’re not harboring some kind of fugitive in there.” Newt ignored his plea in favor of triumphantly pulling something out of the case. It was a ball of black fur curled around itself. When Newt shut the top of the case and set the ball of fur down, it uncurled to reveal a set of beady black eyes, a platypus-like beak, and mole-like claws. It sniffed the air and looked around the table before decided to curl back in on itself. Newt scooped it up and _cuddled_ it.

“This is Flossie,” he explained. “She’s rather adept at thievery, unfortunately. I try not to encourage it, seeing as it causes so much trouble.”

“Yeah, that business with the jewelry store was pretty bad. Dunno what would’ve happened if that tiger hadn’t shown up,” the no-maj grimaced. Queenie made a cooing noise and kissed him on the cheek.

“Are you kidding me with this?” The question wasn’t directed at any one person, but the whole group of misfits he was sitting with: the Heart-of-Gold Auror whose naivety and stubbornness were gonna get her killed one day, even if she was good at what she did; then there was her sister who was a godsforsaken Legillimens constantly poking around where she didn’t belong and her damned _no-maj_ boyfriend they’d managed to hide from MACUSA for Merlin knew how long. And now, there was the gangly magizoologist with a fucking platypus-mole thing. “ _This_ is your thief?”

“Well, Flossie isn’t a thief persay. She’s a niffler. They’re attracted to shiny objects, you understand, like a magpie, and can easily work their way through most magical and all muggle defenses. Unless it’s a dog.” The niffler made a distressed noise and looked up at Newt with its beady little eyes. “I said _unless_ it’s a dog,” he huffed.

Percival sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

Visions of being Theseus’ unwilling test subject on a few new, questionable charms danced in his head. They all ended with him being neatly disposed of.

“I’ve got an Auror, a Legilimens, a fucking _no-maj_ , and some kinda crazy magizooligst telling me that this _niffler_ can lift something from one of the world’s most powerful wizards?”

“She could, yes,” Newt nodded. “Happily, I might add, if the object is shiny.”

“Just what is it we’re gonna be stealing from him anyway?” Goldstein prompted.

“A wand?” Queenie frowned, head tilting to the side much like her sister. “You want to steal Grindelwald’s _wand_?” Percival used every bit of concentration and strength he had to build his Occlumency shields up. Queenie was a force of nature and an awful reminder of how lax he’d become.

“So you could, what, disable him?” The no-maj asked. “I mean, he couldn’t do magic without it, right? So it’s like subduing the enemy?”

“No, Grindelwald is actually an accomplished practitioner of wandless magic,” Newt explained. “He doesn’t need a wand to cast.”

“So what’s so important about his wand then?”

“It’s not his,” Percival interjected. He could always obliviate the no-maj, and having a Legillimens like Queenie onboard would be an asset. Especially inside the Woolworth Building. The beginnings of a plan began forming in his mind.

“Who’s is it then?” Goldstein asked.

Before he could even begin to explain, Gnarlack’s twisted form appeared behind the bar with a deafening crack. “MACUSA are coming!” He bellowed.

“Central Park!” Percival barked. Queenie grabbed her no-maj’s arm and disappeared with a pop. Goldstein did the same with Newt, who scrambled to grab his case. In the rush, the little black ball of fur hadn’t made it back in in time.

His magic recognized the beginnings of the anti-apparation wards Martinez was hastily throwing up. One of these days, she would learn to cast them _before_ the raid started. He’d suggest that when he was back at MACUSA.

Percival scooped the thing up and dropped it in his coat pocket before disapparating with a deafening crack that made his own ears pop.

Fucking wards. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've revised this chapter twice and I'm still not entirely happy with it...here goes nothing! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left reviews and kudos!

“This isn’t funny.” Since landing at the apparation point in a secluded, heavily warded section of Central Park, the niffler thing hadn’t let go of him. It clung to his hand, his arm, his neck, his head, and it refused to let go. Goldstein unsuccessfully tried to turn her newest round of giggles into a cough; her sister wasn’t even bothered to try. Even her no-maj boyfriend was laughing.

Newt gripped the creature around the waist again, with both hands now, and muttered something about developing ‘attachment issues’ and ‘becoming like Pickett.’

Something in Newt’s pocket leapt out at his face, gripping strands of the wizard’s curly hair and chattering wildly. It was green, leafy, and looked like a stick. “Why is there a bowtruckle in your pocket?” His words were slightly muffled by the niffler’s fur as it tried to wiggle out of Newt’s grasp again.

He was definitely going to need a drink when they reached the house.

“Because the bowtruckle—Pickett, his name is Pickett—has attachment issues and thinks of me as his home tree,” Newt grumbled, swatting unsuccessfully at the little green creature. “Flossie, this is unbecoming behavior. Release Mr. Graves’ head _at once_.” He sounded like he was scolding a small child. It growled and clung tighter. “I’ll give you Mother’s broach if you do,” he wheedled. The niffler still refused to release him. “My apologies, Mr. Graves, it doesn’t appear as though she’ll give you up anytime soon; thanks for saving her from the chaos at the pub, I imagine.” The bowtruckle started chattering again, punctuating whatever its point was by yanking on strands of Newt’s hair. “I would have gone back for her, obviously!” He argued. Newt’s fingers started moving wildly against the niffler’s sides and its limbs went loose. Free from the thing, he quickly stepped back and let Newt wrangle it back into the suitcase.

“What’s our next move then?” Goldstein prompted. Bless Goldstein’s sense of duty. Percival straightened his coat and bought himself time to think. The next bit was tricky, considering the wards that were up around his home.

And the fact that it was unplottable.

“Do you have pen and paper in there?” He asked, gesturing to the suitcase. Newt nodded and quickly offered to get it. Instead of simply reaching into the case or even sticking his arm or upper body in like he had done to get the niffler, he stepped _into_ the suitcase and disappeared inside.

Well.

He finally got his answer to how the youngest Scamander carted around all the creatures he rescued and raised and released. Theseus had never really been forthcoming about that, and how he knew why. “Undetectable Extension Charm?” He asked, looking to the trio. The wards and charms at his table at The Blind Pig hadn’t alerted him to anything, meaning either his wards needed work (unlikely) or the younger Scamander was better with Charms than he’d originally thought.

“Pretty impressive one,” Goldstein nodded, almost reluctantly.

“Got a regular _zoo_ down there!” The no-maj enthused. “The occamies are my favorites, obviously. Although the baby Graphorn is pretty loveable—really likes to cuddle. Almost as much as the Nund—”

“All the creatures in his case are really loveable,” Queenie interjected. He didn’t miss the way her hand tightened around Jacob’s, or the warning look she shot him. Goldstein looked like she was ready to hex him into silence.

Percival settled his face into an impressive scowl, trying not to laugh in front of them. Thanks to Theseus, he knew full well the kinds of creatures Newt thought were _loveable_. The man had been in the Dragon Corps for Merlin’s sake. He wondered if the thing from Albania was still in there.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Goldstein begged, her previous no-nonsense attitude crumbling. The no-maj looked worriedly between the sisters.

“Should I not’ve said anything?” He asked quietly.

“ _Found them_!” Newt hollered from inside the case. A few seconds later, the curly mop of hair reappeared and Newt’s excitable face grinned up at them. “What did you need it for?” He asked.

“Nothing now. If every gets into the case, we won’t have a problem getting you into my place. I don’t think. You ever have a problem getting that some place unplottable?”

“Uh, not that I can remember, no. There was a spot of trouble in this one mountainous range in Siam, but it turns out that it was due to a peculiar magical residue the mermaids have mixing with the wards that the local wizards had erected and—”

“So, you’ll all survive the trip,” Percival cut him off.

“If it’s a standard unplottable charm then yes.”

“Great!” Percival clapped his hands together. “Everyone into the case.”

Typically, people fell over themselves to do as he bid. He had spent his years in the criminal element cultivating respect and fear—mostly fear—that drove people’s reactions to him.

Blank stares were not something he was used to.

“I said, _everyone into the case_.” He had even lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes that time. Still, nothing. “Mercy Lewis, would you all just get into the godsdamned case?” Goldstein turned to Newt.

“You sure it’ll be safe?” She asked. “Going through an Unplottable is risky enough business as it is. And who knows what kinda wards he’s got up.” Newt shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and shrugged, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“If Percival thinks it’ll be fine, it should be fine,” he reasoned. Finally, someone showing a little deference. Newt opened the case back up and offered a hand out to Tina. She reluctantly took it and began her descent into the case. The no-maj did the same for Queenie before following down himself. It took everything Percival had not to laugh. The man got stuck at one point and he and Newt had to shake the case a few times before he finally disappeared. Newt sighed and headed in after them. “If my creatures come to harm, Percival, I will hex you from here to Antarctica.” With that, he disappeared, closing the case’s lid behind him.

Percival rolled his eyes and picked the case up, wondering if Scamander Dramatics were genetic or if Newt had picked up a few things from his brother.

The trip to his family home took 10 minutes 15 seconds exactly. It was a combination of random apparations to confuse anyone who might have followed him and two alleyways concealed with Notice-Me-Not charms for both wizards and no-maj’s.

Grindelwald had nearly followed him home once and he wasn’t taking that chance ever again.

When Percival reached his own street, he disillusioned himself before standing on the corner and waiting for the rush of warmth to wash over him as the wards recognized his magical signature. The Graves Family Home was a simple looking brownstone, three stories tall and painted white. It seemed to grow from the building nextdoor, pushing itself into existence from the protective pocket he’d closed it up in. Once the house was fully in view, he made his way up the steps and pushed the door open.

He hadn’t made it two steps before Aurora appeared with a muffled pop. The wrinkled House Elf beamed up at him, wide eyes gleaming as they darted around. Her ears drooped slightly and her smile waned. “Oh. Thought there were guests.” She sounded so dejected and looked so pathetic, Percival almost opened the case right then and there.

“What made you think that?” He asked instead. He unwound his scarf and shrugged out of his jacket, switching the case between hands so Aurora wouldn’t have a chance to grab it up.

“Lots of magic,” she sighed. Of course she would pick up on the signatures from the case. “Only you.”

“Really feeling the love, Ro."

“Not that Aurora is not happy to serve you!” She beamed. “Aurora and her family are most pleased to serve the Honorable and Patriotic House Graves!”

“You’re fine, Ro,” he assured her. “I know you like it here; you certainly wouldn’t put up with my miserable ass otherwise.”

“Not always miserable.” She vanished his scarf and coat away. “Case goes—?”

“With me, to the library,” he said. “Please bring refreshments as soon as you’re able.” She nodded and popped out of sight, presumably to the kitchen. Percival headed for the stairs, nodding at several portraits in greeting as he passed. The house had been in his family since the American Revolution, and unfortunately for him many of the family still graced its halls in their painted forms. For the most part, they were understanding of his recent activities, but a small faction that now sequestered themselves in the ballroom as they were convinced he was, in fact, a ‘turncoat’.

Percival quickly killed that train of thought before he actually wound up in the third floor ballroom. The Graves Family Home was peculiar in that it was rooted in deep magic that gave it a sort of sentience. If you wanted to get anywhere in the house, you had to have your destination in mind, otherwise you’d be wandering until one of the House Elves found you. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to focus on the library and finished the trek upstairs.

The library had, over the course of the last few years, become his office. Books were stacked in haphazard piles wherever he left them and the sitting area was now dominated by a large board where he compiled the most pertinent research and connected the pieces. Aurora bemoaned the messy space and complained bitterly to any portrait that would listen about the sad state of affairs. Nox, her grizzled mate who kept mostly to the third floor and the kitchens, joked that it reflected their master’s current state of mind.

Percival set the case down on the floor, unlatched the lid, and made his way to the liquor cabinet on the far side of the sitting room. He’d just finished pouring himself a drink by the time the motley crew of misfits emerged, taking in their new surroundings. Someone--likely Goldstein--let out a low whistle.

“You’ve certainly been busy, Graves,” she commented.

Percival turned and leaned against the cabinet, gesturing to the board. Grindelwald's picture--a non-magical sketch, just in case--was dead center and linked by string to dozens of other pictures: murdered witches and wizards, a picture of the wand he had stolen, the wandmaker whose murder he’d been framed for, and a dozen different articles on the wizard’s accomplishments over the years. Goldstein was studiously inspecting the board with her sister and the no-maj while Newt craned his neck and stared at the library in wonder.

“Remarkable,” he murmured. “How did anyone manage to encase a four-story structure within a single-story room without compromising the original structural integrity? I assume this started out as a muggle building?”

“You’d have to ask one of the Ancestors,” Percival shrugged.

“This the wand you wanna steal?” The no-maj asked, pointing to a picture of the item.

“That’s not Grindelwald's wand,” Goldstein frowned.

“That is the wand, yes, and of course it's not because _he stole it_.” Goldstein predictably puffed up, ready with some kind of comeback. She was stopped by her sister’s hand on her arm.

“That’s not the wand he uses at work,” Queenie clarified, shooting a pointed look at the older Goldstein.

“Wait a minute, is that--?" Newt frowned, joining the no-maj at the board, and scrutinized the image of the wand. He leaned in so close, his nose almost touched the paper. “Grindelwald has the Elder Wand? Where on earth did he find it?”

“It’s called the _Elder Wand_?” Percival demanded. Knowing that earlier might have helped. The only thing he’d known about it was that Gregorovitch had it and he called it the Death Stick. He hadn’t been able to find much else, even in the family’s extensive, questionable collection of Dark Arts tomes. “How do you know that?” Newt straightened up, head titled to the side like one of his curious animal’s might.

“Do they not have _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ in America?”

“The _kid’s_ book? You’re telling me this wand is in a _kid’s book_?”

“Yes, in ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers.’ It was always one of my favorites.” He turned to the no-maj, grinning brightly. “The Peverell brothers--Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus--evaded death and were granted a gift each, but Death tricked them, well, except for Ignotus, he won in the end. Quite clever really. He always was my favorite. You see, he decided to ask Death for--”

“Focus, Newt!” Percival barked. Newt’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click. “The Elder Wand. What is it?” It had been years since he’d even heard the damn book title, let alone read it. Besides, his parents had given him plenty of other reading material before he’d started Ilvermorny. If he’d ever heard the story, he’d forgotten it since.

“Oh, well, the first brother, Antioch, asked Death for the most powerful wand known to all of wizardkind. He got into a duel with it and bragged about it being the most powerful wand and having received it from Death. His throat was slit that night and the wand went missing. It's said to be able to complete magical feats no ordinary wand can, which would be believable if the core really is Thestral hair. Do you know how hard it is to work with anything from a Thestral? Rather explosive. A bit of tooth I tried using in a potion once took out the side of my room in the case--”

“Newt!”

“You asked!” He protested. Percival pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and took a deep breath.

“How do you know _this_ wand is the Elder Wand?” He asked, gesturing to the board.

“The elderberry pattern is very distinct, as is the coloring of the elder wood,” Newt quietly explained. He ducked his head and carefully studied his shoes.

“Wait, if it's from a kid’s story, who’s to say that’s the actual thing?” Goldstein interjected. “Maybe someone got the funny idea to make one of those replicas, like they do with Merlin’s hat?”

“Oh, use your brains, Tiny. If Grindelwald is gonna murder someone and frame _me_ for it, then it’s probably _not_ a fake.” She puffed up again, ready to tear into him no doubt, but she was cut off again, this time by a muffled pop and a shriek that could have shattered glass.

Aurora stood with a tray of dinner in hand, wide eyes even buggier than normal as she surveyed the group. Slowly, she turned around and faced him, an accusatory finger raised in his direction.

Percival saw his life flash before his eyes.

“ _Percival Haulfryn Graves! Cruel trick to play on an aging elf! Cruel!”_ She cried. _“What would your_ grandmother _say? Charity_ !” She bellowed, scrambling towards the ornate portrait frame above the fireplace. “ _Charity! Charity! Tell your grandson how horrible he is!”_

Groaning, Percival turned back to the cabinet and poured himself another drink.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let's go steal a wand."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos and reviews!

_“Percival Haulfryn Graves! Cruel trick to play on an aging elf! Cruel!” She cried. “What would your grandmother say? Charity!” She bellowed, scrambling towards the ornate portrait frame above the fireplace. “Charity! Charity! Get in here and tell your grandson how horrible he is!”_

Groaning, Percival turned back to the cabinet and poured himself another drink.

“Percival, you are a horrible person.”  He resisted the urge to flip his grandmother’s portrait off. It was unbecoming, ungentlemanly, and would definitely get him in trouble--paint or flesh, Charity Graves was a formidable witch and he wouldn’t put it past her to figure out how to hex him from inside the magical frames. “What have you done to poor Aurora this time?”

“Nothing!” He protested, reluctantly turning to the frame. Aurora stood under it, glare unnerving considering the size of her eyes. “Look, I’m sorry, Ro, okay? I thought it was a _nice_ surprise!” Aurora threw her head back and wailed like a banshee. “Merlin and Morgana, you are a batshit crazy little elf, you know that?”

“You made me _batshit crazy_ , young man! Now I have to start a dinner and air out the guest rooms _and_ make sure your great-cousin stays in the tobacco room!”

Mercy Lewis he hadn’t thought of that. Great-Cousin Bertie’s ghost was a little unpredictable at best and borderline psychotic at worst. How he never came back as a poltergeist was anyone’s guess. His face must have shown something, because Aurora’s expression was a little too smug for his liking.

“Dinner? Guest rooms?” Charity parroted from the frame. She stepped a little closer and peered into the library. “There are people here? Willingly?”

“Gramma!”

“It’s been almost a decade since you entertained anyone, Percival, I have the right to question it.”

“Uh, we’re here willingly, ma’am,” Goldstein offered. His grandmother’s face lit up, damn magical paint making her eyes twinkle just as infuriatingly as they had in real-life. Aurora grinned at him, sharp and feral, before popping away.

“Well now,” she beamed. “Step a little closer so I can see you properly, darling,” she requested, smoothing out the skirt of her dress. “Don’t be shy.” Goldstein shuffled forward, usual bravado disappearing behind some kind of shy, awkward facade. His grandmother’s smile intensified ten-fold. “Charity Graves,” she introduced herself happily. “How wonderful to see Percival finally socializing with someone other than the House Elves!”

“You know,” he drawled. “No-maj’s have this wonderful invention called _turpentine_.”

“Wait, that’s a paint thinner,” the no-maj interjected.

“I know.” If looks could kill, his grandmother’s portrait would have put him underground. The no-maj openly gaped at the portrait now.

He wondered if four firewhiskeys in one night was pushing it.

“Your liver might think so,” Queenie offered unhelpfully.

“ _Get out of my head_ ,” he snarled.

“Oh bless me, there’s another?” Charity asked eagerly.

“The--she’s a--that’s a--?” Queenie took pity on the man and pulled him to the side for a hushed explanation of magical portraits.

Obliviating the no-maj moved closer to the top of his to-do list.

“Percival, stop being rude and introduce me to your friends,” his grandmother commanded. He scrubbed a hand over his face and reluctantly gestured for them all to gather next to Goldstein. Her face softened into a welcoming smile as she looked them all over.

“This is Auror _Porpentina_ Goldstein.” He took vicious pleasure in using her given name, knowing how much she hated it. “Her sister, Queenie, her sister’s no-maj, and that’s Newt Scamander, magizoologist out of Britain.”

“Uh, I’m Jacob,” the no-maj offered. “Jacob Kowalski.”

“Nobody cares. This is my grandmother, Charity Graves. She served as a professor at Ilvermorny and MACUSA consultant for a majority of her life, focusing on herbology and potions.”

“Not to mention alchemy,” she added. “Always handy to have someone knowledgeable of the topic on-staff. Remember that, Percival. Now then, I’m curious as to how you all managed to enter the house without Aurora knowing! My husband dabbled in charms for _years_ and never managed to accomplish anything of the sort.”

“Newt’s got a case with an Undetectable Extension Charm,” Percival explained. “Now, Gramma, if you don’t mind, we have work to do.” Her expression hardened again.

“What sort of work?” While not entirely against his mission, she tended to frown upon his more illicit dealings.

“Important work.”

“Percival.”

“We’re going to steal the wand that Grindelwald killed Gregorovitch for. Figure out what makes it so damn special.”

“I already told you,” Newt sighed.

“We need to confirm it actually is the Elder Wand before doing anything else. And in order to do that, we need the wand which means we need a plan to get it away from Grindelwald and out of MACUSA.”

“What makes you so sure he’s got it at MACUSA?” Goldstein queried.

“I’ve been after this for the last five years, Tiny. It’s not at his house, it’s not on his person. Likely, it’s in his office.”

“But you don’t actually know that.”

“It’s a start.”

“If we rush into this, Graves--”

“ _Five years, Goldstein_ \--” A shrill, sharp whistle cut them off. Surprisingly, it had come from the no-maj.

“You two done acting like five-year-olds?” He demanded, looking between the pair of them. “Look, I’m all for helping a guy out, ‘specially if he’s been wrongly done, you know? But if this guy’s as powerful as you say he is, it ain’t gonna do us much good going in half-cocked, is it? There any way we can confirm if it’s in his office? Other than casing it?”

Percival drew a blank. Aside from sneaking into MACUSA, breaking into Grindelwald’s office, and searching for the wand himself, he hadn’t thought much about how he was going to actually get his hands on the wand.

Cursing his stupidity and lack of foresight, he began pacing the sitting room.

_Foresight._

He stopped and looked to Queenie, who smiled apologetically. “No good, honey. Hard enough to understand him with the accent, but he’s got some of the toughest shields I’ve seen. Better than the president’s even.”

“Dammit.”

“I--I might have an idea.” Newt held up his palm, where the bowtruckle was resting. They both wore the same sheepish expression that was doing fuck-all to hide their excitement. The no-maj pressed Newt for the details of his idea while Percival knocked back the rest of his drink. Hearing the broader details, he decided another drink was in order.

He was probably going to regret agreeing to this.

“Bowtruckles can detect magical residue,” he explained. “If you take Pickett into the MACUSA building, and get him into Grindlewald’s office, he will likely be able to find any traces of its signature and lead you to its hiding place.”  
  
“And how am I supposed to get into the Woolworth Building undetected?” Percival demanded.

“Oh, I just thought one of us would do it.”

Visions of Theseus beating him to a bloody pulp came back into his mind.  
  
“Out of the question.”

“Unless you let me drag you in there in cuffs, I don’t see a better way,” Goldstein argued, eyes gleaming.

“Definitely out of the question.”

“Then it’s gotta be one of us.”  
  
“Don’t be such a stubborn idiot--”

“I’m _not_ being a stubborn idiot--”

“You are! If you want this to fall to pieces, be my guest! Waltz on into the Woolworth Building and get surrounded by Arurors!”  
  
“Don’t be so dramatic.”  
  
“I’m not being dramatic! That’s exactly what’s going to happen if--” Another shrill whistle left his ears ringing. He considered breaking the no-maj’s fingers, but Queenie would probably have his head if he did that.

“Five-year-olds,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Look, it would make sense for either Queenie or Tina to do it, right? They work there. They got an excuse to go in there. Even Newt could, since he’s in there visiting them so much.”

“And if they get caught? What then? You think MACUSA’s just gonna let them go? No! The punishment would be even _worse_ considering they _work there_ . This is _my fight_ , I’m not gonna let anyone else get caught up in this mess more than they need to be.”

“After what happened with Credence, this is our fight, too!” Goldstein spat. Her fingers twitched and he idly wondered if she was finally going to break and hex him. “Tell him, Newt!” She ordered, turning to the magizoologist.

He wasn’t there.

“Where the hell--” he looked around the room for any sign of the wizard, but didn’t see him. His grandmother still sat in the frame, watching the scene play out with avid interest. “Where’d he go?” He asked.

“Sorry, dear, were you talking to me?”

“Gramma.”

“He disappeared into his suitcase about the time you and the lovely brunette started in on each other again,” she shrugged. Percival sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, a habit he’d tried to train himself out of years ago. It was hard to miss the way his grandmother smirked when she’d said ‘lovely brunette.’  He added _talk to Gramma about boundaries_ to his mental list and crossed the floor to the case.

Newt’s curly head popped out, along with a grey-haired thing with wide, amber eyes. The bug-like eyes zeroed in on him and turned a bright blue color. Before he could ask about it, the creature was wrapping itself around him, all long-limbs and soft fur.

“Oh, excellent, he likes you already.” Newt pushed himself the rest of the way out of the case and landed on the floor.

“Who is _he_ and why is it _excellent_ that he likes me?”  
  
“This is Dougal. My demiguise.”  
  
“ _Demiguise_?” He parroted. “You have a--Theseus never mentioned a demiguise.”

“Oh, hey, that might work!” The no-maj piped up. “Dougal could make Mr. Graves invisible and get him into the building, right?”

“That’s the idea,” Newt nodded. Graves shifted his hold on the demiguise until it was resting on his hip like a toddler. At least it was better than the niffler. “Dougal has piggybacked with me into MACUSA plenty of times and has yet to be detected.”  
  
“You’re joking.” He would need to fix that once he was reinstated. If the demiguise could pass through, there’s no telling how many invisibility cloaks made with their hair could make it as well.

“I wouldn’t have asked for his help if I were joking,” Newt frowned. Percival sighed again. The demiguise made a quiet purring noise and pat him on the cheek, as if it were trying to provide comfort.

“We’re going to need a better plan.”

He was probably going to regret this.

* * *

 

Percival definitely regretted this.

The demiguise was clinging to his back like some kind of monkey, the bowtruckle was riding on his shoulder, and the damn niffler was tucked into his pocket.

There was no way this would end in anything but a death sentence.

Picking up his pace, he fell in step behind Queenie and Kowalski. The no-maj had happily agreed to his part in the plan, much to Queenie’s consternation. She’d nearly stopped talking to him altogether, which was fine with him if it made her less inclined to peek into his thoughts.

The plan was a simple one:

  1. Stay invisible with the demiguise.
  2. Follow Queenie and Kowalski into the Woolworth Building where she was allegedly there to take him to be obliviated (all the better if he was actually obliviated, not that he voiced that aloud).
  3. Meet Goldstein outside of Grindelwald's office, where she was already headed with Newt’s case.
  4. Sneak into Grindelwald's office with the creatures and the case.
  5. Let the bowtruckle find the wand.
  6. Let the niffler steal the wand.
  7. Put everyone but the demiguise back into the case with Newt.
  8. Pick up the case and walk out of the building with no one the wiser.



He really wished he’d had a drink before leaving the house.

“You ready, honey?” Queenie threw over her shoulder, just loud enough for him to hear.  
  
“Ready,” he murmured. “Let’s go steal a wand.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left comments and kudos and bookmarks! I wrote myself into a corner with this, but I think I've finally worked most the kinks out so hopefully updates will...actually happen.

The easiest part of the entire plan was keeping the demiguise on his back. The thing had its arms in a vice-like grip around his neck and its legs digging into his ribs. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but at least he didn’t have a niffler attached to the side of his face.

“You ready, honey?” Queenie threw over her shoulder, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Ready,” he murmured. “Let’s go steal a wand.” Queenie picked up the pace and ushered Kowalski to the door, hand wrapped tightly around his elbow. Once they reached the doors, Queenie flashed the guard a blinding smile and quickly explained that she was taking the man upstairs.

“He saw some kids foolin’ around in the park,” she sighed. “Few harmless leg-locks, y’know? Didn’t catch the kids, but I got him before he ran off. Gonna go see the Aurors about getting him obliviated.”

With any luck, Percival thought, it would stick.

Queenie ground her heel into his toes. Percival silently promised payback for that one later. The guard opened the door and Queenie ushered Kowalski in, making sure her grip on his arm stayed ironclad.

Percival quickened his pace again to keep up with them in crowded lobby. If he lost them, there’s no telling what would happen. Theoretically, he could sit in the elevator until it wound up on the right floor, but the risk was too great.

Once the trio (and hangers on) made it up to the Auror offices, Queenie led Jacob towards the bullpen where the obliviation team usually set up for walk-ins. It was thought to be one of the easiest gigs on the floor, but people often forgot how tricky memory charms were. There had been a fiasco years ago where a no-maj had walked in a 42-year-old man and left thinking he was an 8-year-old boy.

Unfortunately, it took them three days to figure it out and get someone into the no-maj hospital where they had taken the poor bastard.

Abandoning Queenie to work her charms on the team, Percival quickened his step towards the offices. He could see Goldstein lurking just outside his periphery, case in hand. Percival thought about jinxing her, if only to get the already guilty look off her face. Her lips were pinched and she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other, almost rocking back and forth, nervousness rolling off her in waves.

A fresh faced kid he didn’t recognize tumbled past with an armful of scrolls and cheerfully greeted her. Goldstein forced a smile onto her face and nervously asked if Grindelwald was in his office.

“Nah, he’s in with the president and council right now. Your crazy magizoologist do something again?” He asked, nodding towards the case. Goldstein laughed nervously, eyes shifting from the boy to the case.

“Well, you know Newt,” she shrugged. “Guess I’ll have’ta talk to him later.”

Percival inched closer to the door, wishing the baby-faced clerk would just fuck off already and leave them to do their work. No one needed to ask that many questions about the weather or Goldstein’s work in wand permits. It wasn’t that interesting. Percival doublechecked that his silencing charms were in place before looking at the bowtruckle on his shoulder.

“Newt says you can find the Elder Wand?” He whispered. You could never be too cautious, even with the charms. The bowtruckle happily nodded, little eyes practically glowing excitedly. “Well? Is it in the office?”

“Hey, Goldstein!”

_For fuck’s sake._

Hastings, one of the meatheads who prefered elaborate dueling to a straightforward arrest, strode down the hall, grinning like the moron he was. He sidled up to Goldstein, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat.  

“You hear your sister picked up a no-maj? She talked Mayhew into letting her try and obliviate him! Odds are she’s gonna botch the job and someone’s gonna need to go in and reverse everything.”

_Fuck._

That had not been part of the plan. The plan had been to let the obliviators find the memory he planted, remove said memory, and then have him stunned and dropped back in the park. Percival wondered if it was her attachment to the no-maj that caused the change or if it was because she’d picked something up from the Aurors and had to buy them time by creating a spectacle.

The kid jumped to Queenie’s defense. Hasting’s laughed him off. “Sure she’s a looker, but she’s gotta be in the secretarial pool for a _reason_. Am I right, Goldstein?” She looked like she was seconds away from hexing Hastings into oblivion. If this turned into a duel, Percival was going to kill her. And frame Hastings.

They were so caught up in their arguing, they didn’t notice the twig was clinging to the door handle of Grindelwald's office, long arms reaching into the lock. The demiguise made a distressed noise right next to his ear and its arms loosened around his neck.

“Oh no you don’t,” he hissed, grabbing a hold of it. “You blow our cover now and we’re all dead. You stay there and you _stay invisible_ ,” he ordered. The furry little pickpocket crawled up onto his shoulder and settled comfortably, one hand pressed against his face, the other keeping it from falling off. “I swear--” he didn’t get to finish his threat.

The lock on the door gave with a loud click. Percival sucked in a sharp breath, watching in horror as the wizards turned their attention to the door. “Hey, is that a bowtruckle?” Hastings demanded. “How’d it get out of evidence lockup?” The kid decided to beat a hasty retreat with his armful of papers, no doubt wanting to avoid any kind of wrath that was sure to follow.  
  
“ _Pickett_!” Goldstein chided, quickly reaching out for the creature. It made a pleased noise and leapt onto her hand. “How’d you get outta the case? You know you’re not supposed to wander around here, especially not without Newt!”

“I better go get Grindelwald,” Hastings frowned. “No telling what’ll happen with his door unlocked.”

“He’s in a meeting, ain’t he?” Goldstein frowned. “With the president and everyone? It wouldn’t be good to interrupt.”

“Yeah but, it’s his office. You know how protective he is. Not like he has to be. We’re at MACUSA in the DMS. Probably the safest place in the city!”

“Okay, fine, if you really wanna go bust up an important meeting, be my guest,” Goldstein sighed. “I can keep an eye on his door or something. Needed to talk to him anyway.”

“You’re not gonna ask for a reinstatement _again_ are you? You _know_ you gotta wait ‘til the inquiry’s over. What you did was pretty damn stupid, Goldstein, attacking that no-maj broad. Impressive, sure, but _stupid_ .” Goldstein ducked her head. “Aw, don’t get like that, you know I’m right. Besides, he won’t be happy when he finds out _you_ had the case and _you_ let the bowtruckle open his office door.”

“I didn’t _let_ Pickett do anything!” She protested.

“Well put it back in the case so we can sort this mess out before you get tossed from MACUSA for good. I like you, Goldstein, but I’m not gonna risk my neck to keep you here.” Goldstein rolled her eyes and crouched down next to the case. “Where is your crazy boyfriend anyway?”

 _Boyfriend_? There was no way. 

“Newt’s not my boyfriend.” Hastings grinned, ready to pounce on that particular line of conversation, but the magizoologist in question called out from inside the case before he could.

“ _Done already?_ _I thought it might take a little longer given--”_

 _""_ Not done!” Goldstein yelped. “Nowhere near done! We’re not done!” Percival groaned; she was going to give them away if she kept it up. Newt’s head popped up from inside the case, hair sopping wet and matted against his head. “Mercy, Newt, what happened to you?”

“Oh, Briar put up a bit of a fight about bath time. What did you mean we’re not done? Where’s Percival?” The look of horror on Goldstein’s face would have been hilarious under any other circumstances.

“ _Percival_?” Hastings repeated. Newt sucked in a sharp breath and twisted himself around until he could look over the top of the case at Hastings.

“Yes. Percival. He’s an orang-bati I picked up in Nusa Ina last year. Bit on the scrawny side, so the colony rejected him. Afraid he flew out of the case this morning on the lower levels. Given their habit of carrying off small children to feed, I thought it best if Tina asked Mr. Grindelwald if he had anything that might help us quickly locate it before it escaped the building. Or mistook one of the House Elves for a child.”

“ _It carries off kids and eats them_?” Hastings demanded. “Merlin’s saggy balls, Scamander, what the hell do you have shit like that in your case for? Huh? There’s something wrong with you. I’m getting Grindelwald. You two--stay here, I guess. No. Scamander, _you_ stay here. Goldstein, you go look for the damn thing. I’m gonna tell Mayhew and get a couple more Aurors on this. _Shit_.” With that, Hastings took off down the hall, almost at a dead run.  

“Please tell me you don’t actually have one of those down there,” Goldstein said, voice faint.

“What? Oh, an orang-bati? No. Those are actually mythical. Loosely based on flying fox and often given more monkey-like characteristics in legends. I _did_ go looking for them last year, but there was nothing concrete to substantiate the claim of their existence, which was rather disappointing actually. Is Percival here? The real Percival, not the orang-bati I made up. Oh, we’d best move quick. Grindelwald will know orang-bati’s don’t actually exist and suspect something.” Newt twisted and turned until he was free from the case. “Dougal, are you here?” He asked.

The traitorous demiguise made himself, and Percival, visible. “Excellent. Let’s get the wand then, shall we?”

“Why’d you use a creature that doesn’t exist?” Percival demanded. “Couldn’t you have said it was crup or a doxy or a wrackspurt or something?”

“It was the first thing that came to mind.”

“Gee, thanks,” Percival deadpanned. “A flying monkey thing that eats children. Great.”

“It doesn’t actually exist,” Newt sighed. “Pickett, did you detect the wand?” He asked, turning his attention to the bowtruckle. It was sitting in the palm of Goldstein’s hand, looking intently at the office door.

“Maybe he needs to be inside?” Goldstein offered.  

“No, he should be able to detect the magical signature from here,” Newt frowned. “It’s not in the office, is it, Pickett?” The twig shook its head, making a sad, almost distressed noise. “Oh, none of that,” Net chided, gently taking the creature from Goldstein’s hand. “It’s not your fault if it’s not there.”  

“If it’s not in his office, then where is it?” Percival demanded.

“A safe place, I assure you.”

 _Fuck_.

He really wished he’d had a drink before leaving the house.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short update is still an update, right? Life is no longer chaotic so I have some time to write again!

> _ “If it’s not in his office, then where is it?” Percival demanded.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “A safe place, I assure you.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Fuck . _
> 
>  
> 
> _ He really wished he’d had a drink before leaving the house. _

* * *

 

For the life of him, Percival could still not remember that damn word.

“Pathetic, perhaps?”

Gellart Grindelwald, the smarmy bastard, looked no different than he had five years ago. Charisma was the only explanation Percival could think of as to why anyone would willingly follow someone that looked like a walking corpse. His hair was long on the top, spiked up rather than slicked back, and the same bizarre shade of almost-white-blonde as his mustache. And skin. And eyes.

“My eyes are blue,” Grindelwald informed him. “You should really consider seeing a Healer, Percival, if your sight is starting to go. Though given the charges against you, I suppose it won’t matter for much longer.” Percival wanted to hex the smirk off his face. They sat across from each other at the interrogation table, Percival bound, Grindelwald looking through a rather thick file they’d compiled on him.

It was almost a little impressive that they had so much.

 _What the hell is that word_?

Grindelwald laughed. “I forgot how amusing you are, Percival. Tell me, what is the word you cannot remember? I might know it.” Percival kept his mouth shut.

Newt shifted a little in the chair to his right, clearly uncomfortable having his hands bound behind his back. Goldstein sat perfectly straight to his left. It was commendable. Especially with the white-clad executioners at their backs. Grindelwald's smile grew and he turned his attention to the magizoologist, swapping his file with a single sheet. He made a show of looking it over before looking back at Newt.

“Tell me, Mr. Scamander, what makes Albus Dumbledore so fond of you?”

“Pardon me?”

“It says here you were expelled from Hogwarts, for endangering the life of a student.” Newt shifted so he was turned more towards them than Grindelwald.

“That was an accident,” he insisted, head ducked. Percival remembered the letters from Theseus, how his baby brother had been framed by one of the Lestranges. He never did go into much detail though.

“With a beast? Only one professor spoke in your favor, and that was Albus. As I’m sure you know, Mr. Scamander, Albus and I are good friends. Very good friends, in fact. He is an excellent judge of character. So again, I find myself asking, what makes Albus so fond of _you_ , who are so quick to throw in your lot with the likes of Percival Graves? Though I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised, given our last encounter, when you tried to kill me.” Newt flinched.

“You did what?” Percival asked, unable to help himself. None of his contacts had mentioned this.

“That night, in the subway tunnels. That is what you were attempting to do, yes? When we went after that monster--”

“He wasn’t a monster,” Newt interjected. “He was--he was ill. His magic--it--it had been repressed for so long he--he became--it wasn’t his fault--”

“An obscurus,” Goldstein quietly finished.

“I could have saved him.”

“Saved him like you did the Sudanese girl?” Grindelwald asked. Newt’s head snapped up in surprise. “Albus told me. He was impressed that you managed to separate the obscurus from the child but, why on earth would you keep something so useless in your case?”

“ _Useless_?” Newt parroted. “That was a parasitical, magical force that killed a child. What on earth would you use it for?”

 _Nothing good_ , Percival thought.

“To expose wizardkind. To provoke war between the magical and non-magical worlds.”

“Mass slaughter for the Greater Good, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Newt actually made eye contact with the son-of-a-bitch then. “I’m not an Anti-ISS fanatic, Mr. Grindelwald.”

“You fool nobody, Mr. Scamander.” Grindelwald rose, hands braced against the table. The mad gleam in his eye set Percival’s fight-or-flight instincts into high gear. “It took me time, but after examining the minds of you, Ms. Goldstein, and Mr. Graves, it is clear that you intended to ally yourselves and use the obscurus known as Credence Barebones in the hope of causing mass disruption, breaking the Statute of Secrecy, and revealing the magical world.”

_“After what happened with Credence, this is our fight to!” Goldstein spat. Her fingers twitched and he idly wondered if she was finally going to break and hex him. “Tell him, Newt!” She ordered, turning to the magizoologist._

_“He wasn’t a monster,” Newt interjected. “He was--he was ill. His magic--it--it had been repressed for so long he--he became--it wasn’t his fault--”_

Well, shit.

“You are all therefore guilty of a treasonous betrayal of your fellow wizards and are sentenced to death.” The tip of a wand pressed into the side of his neck and a hand settled on his shoulder. “Do it immediately. I will inform President Piquery myself.”

With that, the bastard _swanned_ out of the room, whistling an almost jaunty tune to himself.

* * *

 

Percival let himself be led down the hall to the execution room by Bernadette. She was a sweet witch, never faltered in her duties, and made it a point to speak calmly and soothingly to the people she led to their deaths.

It was a quality he’d admired when he was an Auror; not so much when he was on the receiving end of it. “Bernadette, you don’t have to do this.”

“It don’t hurt,” she assured him. Percival wondered if he could physically overpower her long enough to get his wand back. It was pointless trying to use wandless magic with the cuffs on, not that he hadn’t tried already, but he really didn’t want to hurt her.

Or chance Newt and Goldstein coming to harm.

The chair suspended above the black liquid came into view. He wanted to hurl. Bernadette smiled and placed the tip of her wand against his temple, ready to extract memories. He heard Goldstein’s breath catch, could hear her and Newt both sniffling.

He closed his eyes.

This wasn’t something he’d prepared for.

There was no plan, no path to follow, nothing.

Just a pool of inky black liquid that was fast filling with some of his happier memories. Sitting in the library with his father, pouring over magical history tomes. Helping Nox prepare a birthday meal for his mother. Listening to Gramma’s stories about some of the crazier things she’d seen as a MACUSA consultant, laughing when Grandfather scolded her for sharing details like that with a little boy. There were Ilvermorny memories that flew past, when things had been so _simple_ . Being selected as a mentee by _the_ Gellert Grindelwald.

Watching Grindelwald duel against Gregorovitch.

 _Avada Kedavra_.

_“Percival, how could you?” He didn’t understand. Grindelwald twirled Percival’s wand in in his hand. The elder wizard had scooped it up after he’d been disarmed, used it to cast a shield when Gregorovitch had disarmed him and continued the duel even though the wand wasn’t his own. “I must say, using such a dark curse to subdue a suspect--”_

_“What?”_

_“I’m afraid I cannot let this go, no matter how fond I am of you, dear boy.”_

_There was a hiss_.

The hiss wasn’t from his memories.

There was a wand sitting in the death potion, burning. The chair started to burn as the potion rose up, a viscous bubble about to engulf him.

“Percival!” He looked up sharply. Newt stood on the deck, eyes wide. Pickett sat on his shoulder, chirping madly. Goldstein stood watch, a strange wand in her hand, pointed at their now unconscious executioners. He clambered up onto the seat of the chair.

“Get out of here!” He ordered.

“Jump!”

“What?”

“Jump!” Newt repeated. Something screeched overhead, a blur of green and blue feathers. “Jump onto him!”

“Are you crazy?”

“I’ll catch you!” Newt insisted. “Just _jump_! Go!” The blue and green blur flew past the seat and Percival jumped onto its back and then hurled himself at the deck. True to his word, Newt caught him up, a surprising amount of strength in his wiry arms. He held a hand out and the birdlike creature curled up into a ball and landed in his hand.

“Is that the thing you picked up in Albania?” He asked warily.

“It might be,” Newt grinned. “Come on!” They followed Goldstein out the door and into the bowls of MACUSA.

“I don’t have a plan for this!” He admitted out loud.

“I’d be a little worried if you did!”

“ _Expelliaramus_!” Goldstein shouted. A faint bolt of light shot out the tip of the stranger’s wand. “Oh come on!” She groaned, giving it a shake. Two Aurors he didn’t recognize came at them. Newt threw the bird ball in their direction. It knocked one out and pinned another, plastering itself to the poor guy’s face with a gleeful shriek.

“Leave his brains!” Newt scolded. “Come on!” It made a pitiful noise in the back of its throat.

“Come on!” Goldstein insisted, holding a hand out. The thing grudgingly flew into her hand and she grinned. “Swooping Evil,” she informed him, holding up the blue, now scaly ball.

“ _Swooping Evil_?” He echoed. “Merlin’s balls, Newt.”

“I didn’t name it!”

They rounded the corner and ran into Queenie and the no-maj. Queenie had the demiguise clinging to her side. “Get in,” she ordered, snapping Newt’s case open. Percival opened his mouth and stopped when he realized the force of her glare was on him. “Get in the case, Mr. Graves, or I will stun you and throw you down there myself.”

Percival climbed down into the case. 

_Newt better have alcohol down there._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two quick notes: I am now playing fast and loose with both magical theory and history and, fun fact, Passports weren't compulsory until after WWI. 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry. I'm just...so sorry.

“ _ Get off of me, Graves _ !” Percival hadn’t expected such an sharp drop when he climbed down into the case. Given how Newt had pulled himself out of it in his library, he figured he could easily climb in and lower himself down. 

 

Really, given what he knew of Newt and what he’d seen both last night and that day, he should have known to expect the unexpected. After he let go of the case, he didn’t drop to the ground as quickly as he should have, and when he finally did land, it was on top of Goldstein. A swift knee to his hip and a shove to his shoulders and Goldstein scrambled out from under him in a huff. 

 

“You could have used the steps,” Newt said, pointing to the awkward stepcase that went from the floor of the case to the top. Percival took a minute to compose himself before standing, hoping he didn’t look as off-kilter as he felt. 

 

“I’m gonna go check on the animals,” Goldstein muttered, keeping her head down. Percival decided he’d have a little fun. 

 

“Are you blushing, Tiny?” He teased. Her head shot up and, to his surprise, she actually was blushing. He didn’t think she embarrassed  _ that _ easily and filed that little tidbit away for later. 

 

“You can’t blame her, really,” Newt offered. He was standing in front of an herbology table, coaxing the Swooping Evil into a little container. Plants, vials, and a slew of potions instruments covered the top. More plants and instruments were littered across shelves in front of the table. 

 

“What?” 

 

“Tina. You can’t blame her for blushing. You are rather fit, after all. I suppose anyone would react similarly under the circumstances.” 

 

_ What. _

 

“Stick to animals, Scamander.” He turned to the opposite wall where Newt  _ wasn’t _ standing. There was another bench, this one holding stacks of books, and above it were shelves lined with apothecary jars holding things Percival couldn’t identify. 

 

“Humans  _ are _ animals,” Newt argued. “Highly evolved--oh, I’ve made you uncomfortable, haven’t I? That wasn’t my intention.” 

 

“It’s fine.” The far wall held drawers of all sizes, likely some kind of inventory system, with maps of all types hanging from the handles. There was even an elaborately hand drawn star chart. He turned, taking in the space where the ceiling should be. Cages hung mid-air, magically suspended until needed. At the other end of the tiny space sat a cot and a stove. There was also a desk, full of parchment and quills and a single framed picture of a beautiful woman with a small, charming smile. He tried not to think about who that could be, or why it was so sad for Newt to have her picture. “This lead to the animals?” He asked, pointing to the door Goldstein had disappeared out of. 

 

“Oh! Yes!” Newt brightened and pushed the door open. “Go ahead. I’ll be along as soon as I’ve sorted out the carnivores’ dinners. Jacob can manage the herbivores’ food easily enough and is rather adept at feeding the bugs to the occamies, however there’s a stasis spell on the cabinet where I keep the meat and neither of the ladies are very fond of the task of butchering, it seems, so--anyway, right through there,” he gestured again to the door. 

 

Percival decided not to point out it was still early in the afternoon, nowhere near dinner time, and stepped further into the case. 

 

He knew Newt kept creatures in the case. Theseus had admitted as much, in a roundabout way, in some of their correspondences. He expected enclosures, sure, maybe some larger cages for the more dangerous creatures like the fucking  _ Nundu _ , but they were all open, flooded with artificial sunlight. 

 

There was a godsdamned  _ mountain _ in the back, grasslands, and he could see a plateau as well. 

 

_ “Merlin _ .” 

 

“Pretty impressive, ain’t it?” Goldstein came up to him with a feathered snake draped over her shoulders like a silvery boa. She looked right at home in the case, comfortable with the creature around his shoulders, at ease in a way that Percival almost envied. 

 

Almost. 

 

No one should be  _ that _ comfortable around a creature that could allegedly change its size at the drop of a hat and crush the very life out of you. He made a mental note to ask Newt if they really could manage that--and to stay far away from the damn things if they could. 

 

The occamy nipped at Goldstein’s fingers with its birdlike beak. “What? No. You already had enough. No more bugs for you,” she scolded. The occamy gave a sorrowful chirp. “Aw, c’mon, buddy, let’s get you back to the nest. You wanna see it, Graves? They’re pretty cute all piled up together.” She gestured for Percival to follow him down the dirt path. They passed a tree-shaped hollow where Flossie let out an enthusiastic squeal and threw herself at him. He barely managed to catch her before she hit the ground. He held her up at eye-level and schooled his features into a glare that had intimidate both Aurors and criminals alike, and pointedly chose to ignore Goldstein’s muffled giggles. 

 

“If I let you go, are you gonna follow me?” He demanded. Flossie nodded enthusiastically. Sighing, Percival resigned himself to the inevitable, and dropped the pilfering beast into his pocket. Goldstein laughed outright and started a spiel about how Flossie was developing the same attachment issues Pickett was, only instead of mistaking him for her Home Tree she’d developed a serious case of hero worship. He tuned her out and started a new list.

 

  1. Get the niffler to stop following him 
  2. Get rid of the Goldsteins, Newt, and the no-maj 
  3. Figure out Grindelwald’s motives for wanting the Elder Wand 
  4. Figure out where the Elder Wand was 
  5. Retrieve the Elder Wand 
  6. Collect enough evidence to take to MACUSA
  7. Clear his name
  8. Become an Auror
  9. Figure out just how severely Rappaport’s Law had been violated with the inclusion of creature-shaped pastries at a no-maj bakery
  10. Obliviate the no-maj 



 

The list kept getting longer, which was a little annoying, but at least it gave him a sense of direction. 

 

The easiest thing to do would be to apparate as quickly as possible to his home once they could leave the case  (and make sure to throw in a few extra points just in case he was being followed by either MACUSA, the crazies he’d decided to take on, or both). That would take care of the first two items on his list easily enough, assuming the niffler couldn’t somehow find him in an unplottable location. He didn’t think Newt would let her though. 

 

The only problem was he had no idea where to start with the Elder Wand business. 

 

The thought drew him up short. 

 

He didn’t have a plan. 

 

His knees felt weak. 

 

His original plan had relied on the Elder Wand being in Grindelwald’s possession. Now that they knew it wasn’t on his person, in his home, or in his office, he didn’t know where to start. Grindelwald didn’t have any known associates in the area that he was aware of. There was nothing connecting him to anyone who could have conceivably taken the wand after he stole it off Gregorovitch body. 

 

He’d been working towards this moment for years, and instead of retrieving the wand and taking Grindelwald down, he’d almost met his end in the death potion. 

 

Goldstein and Newt would have been next. 

 

His throat burned. 

 

Like some stupid rookie, he hadn’t planned for all outcomes. Capture and execution hadn’t been on his radar; neither had working with a team. He was as unprepared as any dumb kid straight out of Ilvermorny. 

 

There was a buzzing in his ears that wouldn’t stop; he wondered which of Newt’s creatures was responsible for it. If it was a bug, he figured the occamy around Goldstein’s shoulders would eat it soon enough, and it would likely expand in size and crush him to death in the process which, at this point, was starting to look like a pretty good way for a disgraced Auror turned con-wizard to meet his end. 

 

His fingers brushed against something damp. It was scratchy against his palms and itched something terrible. 

 

Something brushed against his cheeks, soft and feathery, it wrapped around the back of his neck and down the sides. 

 

There was a weight around his shoulders and across his lap. 

 

“ _ Then there is the Welsh Green. It is, well, green in color and typically avoids humans unless it’s provoked. If it  _ is _ provoked, it shoots thin streams of fire at the perceived threat. Tina, did you know that in 1932 a rogue Common Welsh Green flew onto a beach? It paid no mind to the Muggles and eventually flew off. Luckily, a family of wizards were vacationing there as well and were able to wipe everyone’s memories of the event. Can you imagine? It’s no secret that I’m rather fond of the Greens. There were three of them in the Dragon Corps when I served.”  _

 

Newt and Goldstein’s faces blurred in front of him. From what he could tell, they were sitting across from him in grass, legs crossed. Newt was babbling, going on and on about dragons and how the Dragon Corps wiped out a nest of Inferi during the war with an Ironbelly and Opaleye. 

 

“You did not,” Goldstein protested. 

 

“We did,” Newt assured her. “The Opaleye was a little difficult to handle, but once it got all its pent up energy out, it was practically a puppy. It rather liked playing fetch with a bludger that the regiment enchanted to be practically fireproof. I say practically, because after awhile it got bored and practically fried the thing.” 

 

Percival recognized the damp, scratchy stuff making his palms itch as grass. He was sitting on it, legs stretched out in front of him. Flossie sat on his leg, watching him worriedly and chittering with Pickett, who kept his perch on Newt’s head. 

 

The occamy was the weight on his shoulders, and lap, which answered his question about their expanding in size. 

 

“Are you back with us?” Newt asked, voice pitched low. 

 

“What happened?” He was pretty sure he knew what happened; he’d seen enough men suffer panics like that over the years, whether from the war or working for the DMLE. He just never imagined he’d be one of them. Newt’s babbling about near death experiences and exposure to the death potion pretty much confirmed his theory. 

 

“Why is this thing on me?” He asked, lifting the creature with shaky hands. 

 

“Oh, uh, I’ve found it helpful during episodes of extreme panic or emotional stress, to have something weighted to, uh, make things seem more solid,” Newt stammered, eyes dropping to the grass. “The occamies are actually very adept at sensing when they’re needed for that very purpose. You see, despite their snake-ish appearance, they actually have more birdlike traits in their need for a flock, a pack of sorts. They can sense when members of their flock are in distress and they gather around--you probably don’t want to hear this,” he added a little sheepishly. 

 

“No, it’s--”  _ distracting _ . “Interesting.” 

 

“Yeah, you never told me about the pack thing,” Goldstein added, gently nudging Newt’s shoulder with her own. “That why these guys pile up together in their nest?” 

 

“Mostly, yes. It also helps them retain their body heat.” They lapsed into silence after that, content to sit in the grass and listen to the creatures around them. 

  
  


Their peace was disturbed sometime later by the sound of chimes. Percival instinctively reached for his wand and tried not to flinch when he remembered  _ why _ it wasn’t in its holder. “The case has been opened,” Newt said, rising from the grass. “Likely Queenie or--” 

 

“ _ Newt, you can come on up _ !” The no-maj’s magically amplified voice called. 

 

“--Jacob,” Newt finished lamely. “Well, at least we know we’re out of harm’s way.” 

 

“Are we? We don’t know where they took the case. If she took it to the Goldstein’s place, that’s one of the first places they’ll be looking.” 

 

“She’s smarter than that,” Goldstein protested. Newt ambled off towards the shack, and the demiguise appeared just long enough for them to see him attach himself to Newt’s back. Percival rolled his eyes and offered Goldstein a hand up. She eyed it with more suspicion than she did any of Newt’s creatures before reluctantly accepting and allowing Percival to pull her to her feet. She brushed her pants off before following after Newt. “You’re welcome,” he grumbled. By the time he reached the shack, Newt and Tina were nowhere in sight. He climbed up the ladder, following the sound of their voices, and carefully peered over the top of his case. 

 

Aurora’s bug-eyes peered back. 

 

Percival yelped and almost fell off the steps, but managed to catch himself on the sides of the case before going over. Something squawked loudly in his ear--the occamy was still around his neck. He would blame the fact that he hadn’t really registered that on the fact that it had been a long day and he’d almost died.

 

He took a moment to gather himself and give his surroundings a onceover. 

 

The other four were gathered in front of his makeshift board, pointing at different articles and pictures, mumbling amongst themselves so quietly he couldn’t hear. 

 

They were in his library. 

 

In his house. 

 

His  _ unplottable house _ . 

 

At this point, he was honestly afraid to ask how the hell they managed to pull that off. 

 

“Percival.” He looked up at the frame where his grandmother sat, worry evident in the way her mouth pinched and her eyes were just slightly squinted. “Are you quite alright?” He hoisted himself out of the case and staggered over to the liquor cabinet. “And what is that around your neck?” 

 

“Right as rain, Gramma,” he assured her. He poured a more than healthy amount of firewhiskey into the glass and toasted her portrait before downing half of it in one go. He didn’t feel like explaining the occamy. 

 

“ _ What the devil were you thinking _ ?” She demanded. Percival froze, glass raised to his lips. When Charity Graves grew  _ quietly angry _ with you, it was best to hold perfectly still and pray your death was a quick one. “I have turned a blind eye to many of your antics in the past few years, Percival, but  _ this _ ? You were almost executed! You are now a wanted man! Do you realize they are sending missives out to every wizarding law enforcement agency they are in contact with? They will  _ kill you on sight _ !” 

 

“Not if I can clear my name--our names,”  he amended quickly. Goldstein and Newt were into this just as deep as he was now. 

 

Theseus wasn’t just going to murder him; he was going to hex his balls off, suspend him above something deadly and dangerous and probably in his brother’s case, and  _ then _ he would slowly kill him in every creative way he could think of. And Theseus Scamander was an imaginative bastard when he put his mind to it. 

 

Charity looked at him with such despair he could feel his own tears threatening to fall. 

 

“Mr. Graves?” The quiet interruption came from Queenie. She smiled sweetly and beckoned him over. “We think we got a plan to avoid the Ministry, honey, but Tina says we should check with you first. You’re better at planning stuff.” 

 

“Am I?” 

 

Look where his plans had gotten them so far. 

 

“Sure, you’re the one with the most experience,” she shrugged. “Tina and Newt, they like to rush into things headfirst, y’know? And Jacob, he’s swell, but he ain’t got the knowledge about this world to be helpful with that.” 

 

“And you?” She didn’t say anything, but the little smile she was trying to hide spoke volumes. She was probably trying to boost his ego or something; they all were. 

 

“What’ve you got?” He asked, knowing he would regret it. 

 

“The easiest way to avoid detection by the DMLE would be to travel as no-majs,” Tina explained hesitantly. “Grindelwald doesn’t think much of them, and with our communities being so divided, no one would think for us to go there.” 

 

“We’ll need to go to England,” Newt continued. “Neither MACUSA nor the Ministry pay mind to the Muggle means of transportation, which means the ports are unguarded by magical means and laughably easy to get through.”

 

“What?” Newt looked up and actually held eye contact. 

 

“Which part would you like me to repeat?” 

 

“No one checks no-maj--what do they use?” 

 

“Uh, ports mostly. There are checkpoints at borders between countries sometimes.” 

 

“You need passports now,” the no-maj interjected, drawing everyone’s attention. “The magical world doesn't use ‘em? Huh.” 

 

“Explain,” Percival ordered. 

 

“Well, we’ve always need papers to travel between countries, right?” Percival was glad he wasn’t the only one who clearly had no idea what was going on. “Really? Nothing in the magical world?” 

 

“We have authorized portkeys,” Newt offered. 

 

“What’s a--” 

 

“Passports,” Percival interjected, hoping that they could stay on track for once. 

 

“Oh, yeah, well instead of papers now, we got passports. Well, we’ve always had passports but now they’re required if you wanna leave the US and go to another country. And get back into the country. They made it a law after the war. You gotta prove you’re who you say you are and you belong here.” 

 

“How do we get them?” Queenie asked. 

 

“There’s a whole division of the government that handles it. I got one, case I wanted to go back to Europe. Most people don’t got ‘em though, since they don’t wanna travel or don’t need to.” 

 

“Well, we want to and need to so how do we get them?” Tina demanded. 

 

“Can we get them tonight? Or tomorrow?” 

 

“Probably not. At least, not legally,” he winced. “I ah--I got a buddy from my unit who ah-- _ might  _ dabble in forgeries--he could  _ probably _ do somethin’ passable.” 

 

“If it’s enough to get us to England, we could probably charm any no-maj’s who question it,” Tina reasoned. 

 

“No, they’ll be searching for traces of our magic. We’ll need new wands; well, we’ll need new wands anyway since Grindelwald took ours,” he added, more than a little bitter that he’d need  _ another _ new wand. His last had met an untimely demise at the hands of a rather pissed-off O’Malley. 

 

“We couldn’t find them in his office, honey, sorry,” Queenie said apologetically. 

 

“How did you get into his--no, you know what? I don’t think I want to know. Just like I don’t actually want to know how you got into my  _ unplottable house _ .” 

 

“I actually  _ do _ want to know that,” Newt said, looking to Queenie and Jacob. 

 

“Oh, the house elf came and got us!” Jacob said brightly. “Real keen thing, ain’t she? Said the portrait over there told her to get us and bring us to the house--oh, that reminds me, she said she ain’t talkin’ to you once she knows you’re alive so, I guess that’s why she disappeared, huh.” Percival rolled his eyes. 

 

“Dramatic house elves,” he muttered. “Hope one of you can cook, because if Aurora’s not talking to me, Nox won’t be making dinner tonight.” 

 

“We can manage,” Queenie assured him. 

 

“Best food I ever had,” the no-maj beamed. 

 

They were so besotted it was sickening. Percival actually wanted to throw up watching them. 

 

“That might be the whiskey,” Queenie offered snippily. He didn’t think she had that in her, it was more Tina’s thing. 

 

“Stay out of my head.” He turned back to the no-maj. “Where is this friend of yours?” 

 

“He’s got a pretty nice setup in Manhattan. Can we--what, apparate over there?” 

  
“They’ll be tracing our magic,” Tina sighed. 

 

“Ok, so we’ll take the subway. Gonna have to be tomorrow though, after we get some proper sleep.” 

 

“We don’t have  _ time _ \--” 

 

“We’re gonna  _ make _ the time, alright?” The no-maj cut him off. “You don’t wanna do something stupid because you’re falling asleep, right? So we’re gonna eat, we’re gonna sleep, and we’re gonna see Neal tomorrow.” 

 

Percival quashed the growing respect he had for the no-maj and headed back to the cabinet. 

 

It was going to be a long night. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show of hands, who would like to see a one shot featuring Charity's frame-hopping and Aurora's badassery?


End file.
